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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: Same Heart, Same Blood Summary: You do not have a name. You were supposed to be Lord Vader’s son, the copy of the child that had died on the desert planet, but the man that never was your father rejected you. You grow up hating him (you just want to belong).The Emperor made a clone of Luke Skywalker, who died as a mere five-year-old. The rest, as they say, was the Will of the Force. AN: Take this mess that has stolen my calm away these past days

[Read on AO3]

You do not have a name, not yet, but the old man with the golden eyes has promised that you will soon. He calls himself the Emperor, your Emperor as if it is a fundamental truth you better not question.

(It is one, you’re going to learn later, wheezing for breath as you kill the children you grew up with. It also a lie, you realize two decades in the future, crying in a princess’s embrace.)

But right now you don’t think to question it. Your thoughts and memories are much too confusing and your muscles still jerk from phantom pains. The environment, the wealth of the palace around you, confuses you and you aren’t sure how to handle it. You are dressed in fine black clothes by two servants and the fabric is much softer than the one you are used to wearing.

(These too are memories you don’t recall.)

“You are the son of my Lord Vader,” your Emperor tells you. “You will bring glory to the Empire.”

You nod because that is obviously what your Emperor expects. He smiles, strangely, kind and loathing at the same time, and orders you to walk with him.

You meet Lord Vader in the throne room. He is a monster dressed in blood and torment, but you think you might learn to adore your father. He is strong, that much you can tell already, but he is also in great pain. You think that if you might ease his suffering, you could be happy for the rest of your life.

“I have discovered a great plot,” the Emperor tells your father. “After you killed you dear wife, the Jedi took her body not just to bury it on Naboo, but to steal your child as well. He brought your son to Tatooine, to be raised as a farmer. I felt a great disturbance in the Force, my apprentice, and it was there that I found your child, a son. Unfortunately, it was too late already. Your son had been slain like your mother before him.”

Darkness pours from your Father, so thick and terrible, you feel like you’re choking, as if your breath was stolen away. But you stay silent because your Emperor told you so.

“Embrace the anger, Lord Vader. You may swallow that planet whole if it pleases you, but first I want to introduce you to someone.”

You are young still, so small and frail and caught off-guard, but even now you understand what the Emperor is asking. You step forward, hoping to make a good impression on your father.

“I have tried to remedy that cruelty,” the Emperor says. He puts a hand on your shoulder, keeping you close and away from your father. You’re not sure why he’s doing it. Aren’t you supposed to go to him?

“Child, introduce yourself,” the Emperor orders.

You frown as you aren’t sure what to say. You haven’t been given a name yet, but you want to make him proud. After all, you’ve been told your purpose and your role already. Son of Lord Vader, glory to the Empire.

“Hello, Father,” you say, trying to look as brave as possible. “I am here to please you.”

“A perfect clone of the boy,” the Emperor explains your existence. “A gift.”

(You don’t know what a clone is, not yet. Later, during your lessons, you will read about the Republic and the Clone Wars, understand that you are a pale copy made to be used as a common tool without any rights or a name. You will beat your opponents into the ground until you and they are bleeding. You’re snarling in anger and remembering that this, at least, is yours.)

Your father doesn’t answer at first, he just breathes as the hatred and pain continue to surround him.

“Is the clone to be a replacement for my son, then?” He finally asks.

“If you wish. The Force is strong in him,” the Emperor replies.

You get the impression that your father stares at you, mustering how you measure up to his expectations. You stand as straight as you can and smile a little shyly perhaps. You want him to love you, but you only need him to like you.

“Give him to the Inquisitors,” your father replies. “I have no use for him.”

You watch as your father leaves, standing still at the Emperors side. You don’t understand what happens until the Grand Inquisitor comes, pulls you harshly by your arm and drags you away to the training facility.

They call you boy and child and soldier and brother and you aren’t given a name. You don’t dare to ask for one, so sure that your father will still come.

The hope leaves you the first time they break your bones and you scream and beg, try to reach out to the darkness you experienced only once. He’s far away, that much you know.

He’s not coming to save you.

Glory to the Empire.

You’re nobody’s son.

Half the time the Force is screaming at you, the other half is spent being shouted at by the other Inquisitors. They teach you discipline, loyalty to the Empire and all the skills needed to ensure the Emperor will always sit on his throne. You’re not sure whether you’re actually loyal to the Empire. It’s all you have ever known and you suppose you should be thankful to it for creating you, but you aren’t.

You hate it, you resent your own existence to the core. You weren’t born, you were made to bleed and die for the Empire. And, being forced through its punishing training, you catch yourself thinking that death might be kinder. The numbers of the Inquisitors always stay roughly the same, but only because they steal children as quickly as they kill them.

You refuse to be murdered by them; you won’t give them the satisfaction. You will live and you will serve and you will bring glory to the Empire.

(You will fight and keep fighting until you’re standing in front of Lord Vader and force him to acknowledge you. You will be great and he will realize all he lost when he threw you away.)

The thoughts of running away or defecting to the rebels never cross your mind, but the idea of compassion does. It is forbidden to you, to all Inquisitors. You are taught how to forget it in the death matches they force you to compete in. The weakest get the chance to prove themselves one last time, while the oldest are made to kill the companions they share a room and a table with.

The lesson never sticks.

It is compassion that saves you again and again.

Your shields are made of durasteel. Nobody can get through them, no matter how hard your teachers try, but invading their minds is so much easier. You suggest they stop kicking you when you are already down and they do.

Your talents don’t go unnoticed, they never do in a place like this. You are taught infiltration, how to smile and make your blue eyes light up in childish wonder. When you are ten, you meet a girl two years younger than you with the same skill set.

Her hair is bright red and stands out as much as your own blonde crown. She doesn’t have a name either, at least not until the two of you are stuck in a dorm together. Nightmares are a frequent occurrence here and she screams.

You’re tired, you want to sleep, you slip into her dreams.

(There is a woman standing in the desert, screaming at you. She’s crying and you think you are as well. The girl is hiding in a basement and watches her mother die shouting her daughter’s name. The scene is familiar. You don’t know that the first part of the dreamscape isn’t Mara’s but yours until it’s nearly too late.)

You call her Mara when you’re alone and she hurls whatever nickname she can think of at you. You still don’t have a name, only a rank.

It’s Third Brother right now.

(By the end of the year it will be Second Brother and when you’re fourteen, you will be the First Brother. They will begin to whisper about Siths and Apprentices you will stare at your face in the mirror every morning, wondering why your eyes are still blue.)

Mara likes to stick to words associated with the sky.

“It’s because you always volunteer for missions, just to pilot, Skyspawn,” Mara says with an eye roll.

You enjoy flying. It makes you feel like you are free, even when you’re stuck in a durasteel container. If you had been given a choice as a child, you’d be a pilot instead of an Emperor’s Hand.

The title is given to you on your creation day. The Emperor smiles, tells you he is proud of you. You’re thankful for your shields because you honestly couldn't care less about what he thinks.

(It’s not him you want to impress.)

All you know is that your training is finally complete and that your life might not be your own, but even just the taste of more room to be whoever you want to be leaves you dreaming. Then, after half a year of doing missions handed to you by the Emperor himself, he gives you your first long-term assignment.

He puts you on the crew of Lord Vader’s flagship.

You are to assist Lord Vader in all matters. You are given an appropriate uniform and a new name for all the other personnel to use when addressing you.

Commander Forbes.

Forn Besh.

First Brother.

Even Mara’s worst nicknames, and she has come up with some truly awful ones, aren’t as uncreative as this. You miss her like one would miss their right hand, but Mara is still training and you are not.

(Vader never calls you anything but Inquisitor.)

You think you might hate Vader, but you know he doesn't hate you, not really. He hates the idea of you, all that you represent. You are the son he never got to meet or raise, the Emperor’s total control over him, all his flaws.

Vader only really lashes out at you once. He chokes you with the Force, squeezes until you can see the stars surrounding you, and then he drops you.

(You don’t know that for all that you are Anakin Skywalker’s copy, you resemble Padmé Amidala even more. It is only this that saves you.)

For one terrible moment you wish he would have gone through with it. He could have snapped your neck so very easily.

(You know because that’s how you killed the First Brother.)

Vader introduces you as the Emperor’s asset. For all that you’re supposed to be undercover, Vader’s troops obviously know that it means you’re a spy. You are surprised at first because you didn’t expect them to be this loyal to Vader. The Stormtroopers treat you like an outsider because they are Vader’s men. The other military officers just treat you strangely because you’re incredibly short for your age.

You should report this to the Emperor.

You don’t.

The Stormtroopers start inviting you to the mess hall. It is only then that you see why they might be so loyal to Vader, hundreds of identical faces talking to each other at the same time.

Nobody told you that most of Vader’s fleet consists of Clone Troopers, but you suppose that it does explain why their missions have a much higher success rate. They have been made for war, just like you, and don’t know how to be anything but a smarter blaster.

(You’re not sure you know either.)

CC-2224 is your favorite. You’re not supposed to have favorites, but you’re not supposed to be compassionate either and that has only aided you so far. The other clones seem to pick up on your new acquaintance with him and now draw you in too. You gather that CC-2224 used to be a Commander, a position now reserved for fourteen-year-old Emperor’s Hands, and some of the other Troopers still defer to that.

Vader puts CC-2224 in charge often enough despite it all, so you begin to report to him too, report to him first. You gain the clones’ favor and you fight at the front with them.

At Vader’s behest, you raze through battlefields with twin red ‘sabers in your hands. You cut through droids and rebels and smugglers, execute on his orders.

You give him everything you have.

(He doesn’t return in kind.)

The clones start to slip up around you. They call you Commander usually, but when it’s just you and them between blaster fire, a verd'ika slips out often enough.

They do not actually mean you, you realize quickly. Most men of Vader’s Fist wear a little extra color between their regular uniforms. They’re not supposed to do so, but you catch flashes of blue and orange. The battalions of the Republic are not as dead as they should be.

You ought to tell the Emperor.

(But that would mean betraying Vader and losing this little space you carved out for yourself. You’ve collected trinkets of the worlds you visited and you get to keep them. The clones give you sweets and CC-2224 mutters about reverse grips when he sees you hold your ‘sabers for the first time.)

You don’t.

(You quietly look up the old Republic battalions. 501st blue and 212th orange. General Kenobi and Skywalker, blue lightsabers. Commander Tano with twins. You wonder if it’s her CC-2224 is thinking of when he sees you.)

You’re just like the clones, you think. A vod to a dead child. But you don’t dare to actually voice your thoughts. You think CC-2224 might know anyway.

(This is why Vader hates you. The clones, for all that they are supposed to be identical, have slightly different skills and tastes. You’re not a perfect copy. You never were.)

But you‘re still the Emperor‘s Hand. You‘re called back to Coruscant regularly to report and train with the other Inquisitors. You‘ve only become stronger since you left, even if you haven’t become much taller. You see Mara only for moments during the daytime, but she doesn’t fail to tease you about your height when you‘re stuck in your room, turning your sheets red because of badly treated injuries.

“You’re getting popular here,” Mara tells you. “They call you Vader’s attack dog.”

Vader’s replacement, is what she actually means. It makes a terrible amount of sense. Your presence throws Vader off, the Emperor thinks you’re only his own and you were made for this.

The Force is strong in you.

Vader has ambitions, mourns a child and a wife and perhaps - this thought occurs to you for the first time then - he blames the Emperor. If he is so strong, was stronger than Vader, he should have been able to stop it all from happening.

But he hadn’t.

You exist and you’re not a gift, you’re a punishment and you will be the instrument of the Emperor’s downfall.

(You’re tired. You don’t want to be anyone’s anything. You just want to belong somewhere and be left in peace.)

You crawl out of your bed, allow yourself to wince because of your bruised ribs and make yourself comfortable in Mara’s bunk.

“Aren’t we too old for this?” She asks, but makes space for you anyway.

It’s an old song and dance, except you’re not ten-and-eight, you’re seventeen-and-fifteen nowadays. You’re exhausted from all your nightmares. You have become used to them, but they’re still painful.

(You dream about the battlefields, the smell of burned flesh. Children half your age you can’t afford to care for and sentients twice your age who do. You’re not a torturer, you’re a soldier, but it doesn’t make a difference when you are ordered to slaughter them like cattle.)

“No,” you tell her. The clones still share bunks after particularly gruesome campaigns and they are much older than the two of you.

Mara’s breath evens out before yours. You want to take her with you on board of the Devastator. She’s one of the most skilled Inquisitors, your teamwork is great and Vader hasn’t tried to outright kill you in three years. Mara would be safe and away from the Imperial Center.

Vader might always send you into the worst parts of the battles, but you return victorious.

(It’s spite, you tell yourself, but that’s a lie. You still only want to make him proud, have him acknowledge you. Just once you want him to look at you like he did before.)

You will just have to keep fighting.

The clones don’t celebrate birthdays, they don’t have any, and the Inquisitors never do either. You know you were created on Empire Day, so sometimes it feels like you’re celebrating having made it through another year. This campaign though leaves much to be desired. Vader is always called back to Coruscant for Empire Day, but this year his troops have been left behind, turning another rebel cell to dust. You’re dirty and haven’t eaten in a week and want to go back to the ship.

“I hate marching through caves,” CT-4545 complains. “It’s dark and wet and urgh.”

“We’re halfway through already,” CC-2224 says. He’s walking right behind you and from experience you know he will tackle you to the ground first, should any complications arise.

(It’s comforting in a way you can’t quite understand.)

“At least we’ve got somebody to light up our way, don’t we?”

The clone means you and you can’t help smiling. You’re glad you’re walking in front of the, so that they can’t see it. All of you engineered war machines have a role to play still after all.

“You sense any danger, nau'ul?” CT-4545 asks.

Candlelight.

CC-2224 had come up with the moniker after seeing you train in the dark, only the red of your ‘sabers illuminating the training hall. A week later, every Clone Trooper had been using it in the appropriate moments.

The mission absolutely sucks, but you’re in good company at least. Using your lightsabers as flashlights is ridiculous, but you don’t mind at all.

“No danger,” you reply and hope the campaign will be over soon, but you already know it's useless.

The battles get worse. There are civilians here and you are told to ignore them and keep fighting. You’re not allowed to hesitate, but there’s a little girl with red hair and you look away, just for a second.

(It’s enough.)

You get thrown to the ground, your head smacks against the dry earth and dust gets into your eyes. Somebody is lying on top of you and you push them off.

Their armor is white because everyone’s is, but you’ve always been able to tell them apart in the Force.

“CC-2224!”

He took the shot meant for you, and this one wasn’t just a blaster shot. The people of this planet use sharper weapons, reply on bleeding you dry in the most violent ways because they can’t afford blasters.

He’s bleeding.

You take off his helmet and try to get him out of his armor. He needs to get medical treatment, but you’re on the frontlines and there are no medics here.

(They don’t get wasted on troopers and you’re expected to be able to protect yourself. CC-2224 has taken to checking up on you after fights because you spent the first nine years you can remember hiding away all weaknesses to survive.)

“Kriff,” you hiss.

CC-2224 is getting paler by the second, but his face isn’t crunched in pain. He doesn’t look like he’s feeling anything at all.

“You safe, verd'ika?” CC-2224 slurs.

Somebody is shouting for a medic. It might be you.

“No, no, no,” you stutter. You press your hands on CC-2224’s wound, but the blood just keeps welling up. “You can’t die here!”

“It’s my time,” CC-2224 rattles. He pulls at his hands, taking off an orange bracelet. “Keep it, nau'ul. Tell him- tell him I’m sorry.”

You get flashes of a man you know is Kenobi, then various vode, none of whom you recognize. Clones have funeral rites, you know this much, but they rarely get to practice them. The Empire doesn’t care about its dead, but you do and you can’t do it.

“Don’t- don’t leave me here, please,” you beg. “Please, Cody, please, you have to make it. You can’t leave me here, I don’t have anyone else. Cody- Cody, please, I don’t know how to-“

Cody doesn’t answer so you scream in his stead.

The next hours are a blur. You know you win the battle because you return to the Devastator covered in red. You’re not sure how many people you’ve killed. You stopped counting years before you were sent to spy on Vader. There’s an orange bracelet wrapped around your wrist, untouched by the bloodshed.

Vader spares you a second glance.

(It is more than he ever did before.)

The next months don’t get better. The rebels become more desperate and daring, and yet the Emperor calls you back to Coruscant. He tears through your mind and you let him see everything but the memories tainted in orange and blue. Whatever he finds, he’s content.

“You have done well, Inquisitor,” the Emperor says. “Your talent may excel Lord Vader’s yet.”

“Thank you, my Emperor,” you reply, carefully keeping the pain out of your voice.

You keep your hands behind your back, you tug at the orange band, just to reassure yourself that it’s still there.

The Emperor is driven by ambition, but not the kind that forces you to throw yourself at enemies again and again, hoping it’ll make him look at you.

He wants total control, you’d be content with your own autonomy.

“Return to Lord Vader’s side,” the Emperor orders. “He shall instruct you.”

You have been learning from Vader since you can remember. The Inquisitors’ training is based on Vader’s ruthlessness and you’ve had the chance to observe him on the battlefield. You’re already copying a lot of his fighting style because, buried beneath brute strength, Vader is a rather cunning fighter. He wastes no energy and uses his opponents’ attacks against them.

You’re under no illusion that Vader hasn’t picked up on the fact that you’re learning from him. Being stuck in the worst areas of the battles often also means being near Vader, it gives you a chance to observe him closely.

If Vader were to instruct you directly, you’re not sure you’d actually keep learning from him. He might actually kill you and call it an accident.

“Thank you, my Emperor.”

You wait for him to release you, but instead he just observes you.

“You may call me Master, my young apprentice. Lord Vader is hunting down rebels near Scarif, I suggest you haste.”

“Yes, my Master,” you reply and choke down the bile.

Your leave the Emperor’s hall as fast as you can, you don’t stop to see if Mara’s at the base and you run.

(You do not want to surpass Vader. The higher you reach, the more terrible the fall. The Emperor’s anger is barely endurable when you’re otherwise having a good day. You don’t want to be his, you never did.)

The hanger is pretty empty and nobody looks at you twice as you leave in your ship. You’ve been modifying it over the years as a side-project to keep busy when you’re not fighting or staying at Vader’s side. The ship is fast, but it’s not fast enough to catch up. Your comms pick up chatter and-

The Death Star is gone.

Hesitantly, you reach out to the darkness that never left you and retreat again when you find it unchanged.

Lord Vader is still alive then.

You should ask Command for coordinates, follow through with the Emperor’s assignment, but-

You were supposed to have been on the Death Star already. You’re supposed to be dead.

Your shields have always been excellent.

You run.

(Away or towards freedom, you’re not quite sure. You’ve never experienced either and if not for the echoes of Jedha, Scarif and Alderaan, you might even laugh as freely as you did when Cody picked you up because you were too short to reach the control panels of your ship.)

Your ship is not Imperial, you don’t have to ditch it. Besides, you doubt the Emperor would search for you on his own homeworld. Naboo is a beautiful planet, rich in colors and nature. You’ve spent most of your life in underground training complexes, on battlefields or on ships. Never before have you had the time to just look around and see the world for what it is.

(Of course that’s not actually what you do. You check how often the security guards pass, see the pickpockets run over the market place, the arms deal going down in a cantina. You’ve been trained to check for danger first, so that’s what you do.)

You keep nothing but your ship, the mementos on it and your lightsabers. You get rid of your boots, which never were all that comfortable in the first place, and every piece of clothing you own. You never want to wear the color black again.

Instead, you buy sturdy beige boots and pants of a dark brown color. You put on a white shirt whose hems are a bright orange color and wear a brown belt with some extra pouches. The vest you throw over it all is gray, has a lot of pockets and orange buttons.

It all matches the bracelet circling your wrist.

You look like a spacer and not at all like an Inquisitor. You’ve been taught how to disguise yourself for undercover work, but this doesn’t feel like a disguise, more like a homecoming.

Your Coruscant accent has to go as well and you pick up something that sounds vaguely Outer Rim, but feels familiar on your tongue.

“Name?” One of the many underpaid workers at the spaceport asks.

You could just slip into their mind and avoid leaving any trace at all, but you’re so caught up in your emotional high, you don’t even think of it.

“Nau’ul,” you reply because it's the first name that comes to your mind. You want to smack yourself a second later because dropping Mando’a with an Outer Rim accent on a Core World is a stupid mistake.

The worker doesn’t even care. “Last name or first name?”

“First name,” you say and then, because you’re committed and might as well go through with it you add, “My last name is Kad.”

You start hopping from planet to planet. You begin stocking up on blasters because your lightsabers are a dead giveaway who you are. Not once have you caught even a glimpse of any Inquisitor the Emperor might have sent after you, so you just keep moving. You dream of the desert and the sky and Cody’s last words.

(You owe it to him.)

Truth is, you have no idea what to do with your newfound freedom. You don’t want to spend the next decades of your life in hiding, hoping Vader kills the Emperor and can overlook your existence.

And then the wanted posters come out.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi, rebel, dead or alive.

Leia Organa, Jedi, rebel, dead or alive.

The bounties on their heads are unbelievably high, but what shocks you more is that Kenobi doesn’t look at all like the man Cody remembered. You knew he wasn’t dead, the Inquisitors have a more or less accurate list of all Jedi that should still be around somewhere, but you didn’t expect him to have aged so much.

Organa’s training must have happened in secret or started only recently. He catches a few holos of her with a blue lightsaber and she is good, but her movements don’t speak for a particularly long and in-depth tutorship yet.

They might profit from some support and you’re not too far from Nar Shaddaa. The crime-ridden planet has been calm still by its standards, the Empire hadn’t interfered much there and Grakkus’ obsession with Jedi artifacts was well known.

You will buy yourself your way into the Rebellion, to Kenobi and Organa.

Breaking into Grakkus’ vaults is ridiculously easy. You’re not sure what to reach for because there’s so much, but you figure the holocrons are a good start. You stuff your backpack full with them and are glad you brought a second. Grakkus has a whole line of lightsabers, hidden away behind glass panels. Deactivating the security is a child’s play for somebody raised to tear down every defense.

You’re out again and have left Nar Shaddaa before Grakkus even notices that he’s been stolen from. You travel from planet to planet, trying to find hints of the Rebellion. The work makes you a little uncomfortable, it is so very similar to what you used to do for the Empire, you expect every planetary drop to end with your blood red lightsabers cutting someone in half.

You haven’t taken them out of your backpack since you put them there, hiding them away from the world and, perhaps, yourself as well. The last weeks you’ve spent listening to the Holocrons, watch the Jedi Masters of old explain their philosophies.

You don’t understand them.

(They were made for Jedi, raised safely amongst their kin. You are not a Jedi, not yet.)

But the lightsabers are a whole other matter. You do not mean to touch them, to take them apart, but their crystals hum beneath your fingertips in a way yours never did. You pick up the lightsaber pieces as the Force sings around you.

When you are finished, you are looking at a new blade, a staff this time. You chose twin sabers when you were young because it allows you greater offensive capabilities, even if it’s more difficult. You’re hesitant to ignite the staff when you realize what you’ve done. This is not a choice, your teachers staring down at you as you pick up your defeated opponent’s blade to throw yourself in the ring again.

You forged this lightsaber.

(The crystals aren’t red, and yet you fear.)

The color of sunrise and sunset greets you.

For one impossible moment you feel unstoppable, like you never had any limits in the first place. Then you take a step back and an old scar that never healed properly complains, reminding you sharply of the day you got it.

Exhausted, you turn off the ‘saber and drop into the pilot chair. You have a group of rebels to find and you don’t intend to give up now.

You put all your tracking skills to use, follow the rumors and the bloodshed, the angry civilians and the slaughter. Lady luck is on your side because eight months after the Death Star, you do find a rebel cell.

Unfortunately, you show up lightsaber swinging, decapitating the bounty hunter who was trying to take them in. You can’t pretend to be a simple spacer now and, even though your blade isn’t red anymore, they recognize your face.

(They don’t say it out loud, but your age shocks them. You’ve been Vader’s tool for six years now and, without the uniform and proper posturing, you actually look like twenty.)

They’re unsure what to do with you and all your attempts at reassuring them that you’ve defected from the Empire are met with a snarl.

Of course they don’t believe you. You killed their families on Vader’s orders. They throw you in a makeshift cell and handcuff you. Their security is so lax that breaking out of it wouldn’t even take much effort, but you’re fairly sure that course of action wouldn’t end with you having gained their favor. So, instead you hand them one holocron and activate it. They understand about as much as you do of the Jedi philosophies but it’s enough to convince them to call Kenobi and Organa at least.

Organa looks at you with barely disguised anger. She snarls Inquisitor and you think you might gag. Her inflection reminds you of Vader in ways you can’t quite comprehend, so you decide you’d rather focus on Kenobi.

You think of rough hands and ships models and banish the thoughts as soon as they arise.

He stares at you with dead eyes, as if he might be seeing a ghost. It makes you frown and he flinches. Before you can do more harm and ask, you recall the list you’ve been forced to memorize since you could read.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Jocasta Nu, …)

You’ve never seen Vader’s face, but you were made in the image of his child. For the first time in your life, you wonder whether you look like him. Vader’s anger at Kenobi was well known, it wouldn’t surprise you if Kenobi actually knew what Vader looked like beneath his mask.

(If you were more than one person’s mirror image.)

“We caught him,” the rebels tell the two Jedi and you can’t stop yourself from snorting.

“You didn’t catch me, I’m here out of my own free will.”

One of the rebels, a male Twi’lek, hisses. Not every Twi’lek is from Ryloth, but you think this one might have been once upon a time.

“You can’t do kriff-”

You interrupt him by dropping out of your handcuffs and bending the metal bars of your cell so you could slip out easily, if you wish. Organa reaches for her ‘saber immediately, but you remain seated.

“Master Kenobi,” you address the Jedi instead. “I come in peace. I’ve brought a bag full of holocrons and lightsabers for you and your Padawan. I wish to…”

(You do not want to join the rebellion. Your life has been dictated by other people’s causes. The Republic was weak because it allowed the Empire to rise and the Empire is cruel and doesn’t honor its dead. You’re here because of a dead man who cared for you when nobody else did.)

“I don’t want to be the Empire’s anymore,” you finish your sentence. “I am a person.”

(And you have a name that’s almost yours.)

“What is your name?” Kenobi asks.

“I was the First Brother.”

Confusion and disappointment alike flicker across Kenobi’s face, but he doesn’t elaborate why. He and Organa ask for directions to your ship and in a show of trust, you give it to them. They return a day later, Kenobi somehow appearing to have aged another decade over night while Organa obviously still doesn’t trust you. You think about Cody’s last words, but you can’t bring yourself to say them out loud.

You stay silent.

They take you to the rebel base.

The Rebel High Command takes offense at being called rebels. It is Imperial propaganda as it undermines their intention to bring peace to the galaxy and rebuilt the Republic. They are an Alliance of Independent Systems with elected leaders.

You think it’s bantha crap, but you roll with it.

They question you about your decision to switch sides, about the way their military is organized, any codes you might know that are still usable, the Inquisitors and Vader.

And they ask about you.

You refuse to tell them your name, which is just random bits of Mando’a, stacked together in a rather uncreative manner and you can’t tell them where you’re from. You don’t remember, but you assume it was some cloning facility, but you don’t tell them about that either. They realize rather quickly that as far as personal life or details go, you actually don’t have much to share because there is nothing.

So they ask about missions instead. Giving mission reports is easy. You regurgitate your significant operations like important assassinations, Jedi hunts, battles won and battles lost and it reminds you all very much of the reports you had to do back in the Inquisitor Headquarters.

“Without the beatings,” you add, attempting to joke. “We’d always get those, but if you did well, you got bacta after.”

Nobody laughs.

It’s a work in progress.

They assign you Kenobi and Organa as guards, who keep your lightsaber. You’re not allowed to go anywhere without them. It’s a step up from being thrown into a cell you have to pretend is actually secure. You tell Organa that you could take her on the first day, honesty seems like a good approach, and she punches you in the face.

(You could have avoided that, but the Jedi talked about releasing their feelings into the Force. Letting her punch you seems like an appropriate way of dealing with that.)

The rebels continue to be wary of you, so you try not to cause any troubles. On some days, even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have the energy for it. Your nightmares, constant childhood companions, are back at full force. You can’t shake them off, no matter how many droids and ships you repair and update. Sometimes, you see Vader choking you, more often than that you’re killing Stormtroopers. The worst nights are those in which you dream of blood red sand.

You try not to let them get to you, but they get so bad even your Jedi companions notice. Your presence essentially keeps them tied down to the base. You’ve offered to accompany them on missions so the two of them can go, but that suggestion was denied. Organa goes off with that Corellian smuggler with the tempting bounty on his head, Kenobi stays behind with you.

You keep training, of course. You might not have a ‘saber, but you can still go through the katas. Inquisitors were trained to take down Jedi fast and without any mercy. You’re used to forms Kenobi refers to as Makashi and Djem So with some bastardized Shien. Somehow, telling him that you’ve learned the later by watching Vader doesn’t go so well. Vader never really deflected blaster fire with his saber, except as a warm up, he just stops them mid air and passes through. It requires a greater control of the Force apparently, but you’ve never really had a problem with that. The greater trouble is adjusting for the fact that you’re down one ‘saber. You still do the katas like you’re doing them with your twin reds instead of your staff.

At least this way you can pass the time while waiting for the other shoe to drop. Most rebels on the base know you already and no matter how secure they are, they ought to have a leak sooner or later. You’re still running from the Empire, even if you’re stuck at one place. It can’t be long before your past catches up to you.

And when it does, you’re not prepared.

Another rebel cell drops off and it’s only chance that you actually get to see them. You’re in the hanger, repairing ships while Organa’s astromech bothers you, until he doesn’t.

He begins beeping in excitement and rushes off. Kenobi is still busy talking to a Commander, but you’re under no illusion that he doesn't know where you’re heading.

“Artoo!” You shout and catch up to the droid when he’s made it to the new ship. A group of people are getting out of it and Artoo drives circles around one of them.

He has no scar, but a beard instead, his eyes aren’t as empty, but they’re the same color and you know him.

“Rex.” The name falls from your lips before you can stop yourself. Being with the rebels has really shot your control to hell. You used to be able to get through torture disguised as training without screaming, now you can’t even keep your mouth shut.

The clone’s eyes snap to you and narrow. “Who are you?”

“Captain,” Kenobi acknowledges next to you. “It’s good to have you back. This is-”

“Nau’ul Kad,” you say. Next to you, Kenobi tenses. You had thought about telling him so often, but you never found the right moment, but Rex is here and he look just like-

“CC-2224 named me,” you explain and you wouldn’t need to be Force-sensitive to tell they’re shocked. “He caught be training with the ‘sabers in the dark so often and I didn’t- They didn’t give me a real name because for us only ranks mattered.”

You should stop. You’re better than this.

(You can’t, you won’t, you fail.)

There are still people running around, shouting and cursing but you can’t hear any of it.

“He- Cody figured I’m just like you. I was supposed to be Vader’s. I was made for him but he didn’t want me and Cody knew and he did.”

You tug at the orange bracelet, pull it off your arm and try to give it to Rex because that’s what Cody wanted, right? To rest amongst his brothers.

“He died for me. He looked after me for five years and he died because I was too reckless, because I still want Vader to look at me and see more than his dead child.”

They continue to look at you and you don’t know how you’re supposed to make up for Cody’s death. It should be him standing here.

“I- he said to tell you he’s sorry.”

They question you again, this time you tell the full truth. You admit that fifteen, almost sixteen, years ago the Emperor brought you to Vader and told you that he is your father.

Except he wasn’t because you are an imperfect clone and he had no use for you.

You talk about how your assignment to Vader’s ship was meant as a punishment for the Sith Lord, that a lot of the troopers from the 501st are clones still, hiding their colors and that they are more loyal to Vader than the Emperor.

They ask you about yourself again.

You tell them that orange is your favorite color, that the troopers bought small trinkets for you and sometimes even managed to talk about their jetii without freezing up. You begin to list the names of the clones who made sure you got your wounds looked at and the dozens of more you can remember.

“They taught me Mando’a,” you end your statement. “And when nobody else could hear it, they called me verd'ika.”

The looks you get after your confession are different. Not worse, not better, just different. Rex has to leave again and no matter how much you want you, you can’t go with him. He seems to have picked up on your mood though because he hands you his comm number and makes you promise to call.

Halfway through the next month, your appearance has apparently become so pitiful that Organa picks up on it and drags you to the training halls. She musters you for a moment, then she throws you your lightsaber.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she tells you and you grin.

“Wouldn’t think of it, Organa.”

She parries your strike with her blue lightsaber. It is not the same she was using before your arrival, but it looks similar. You’d bet that she used parts of her old one to make this one.

“Leia,” she says suddenly. “If we’re sparring, you might as well call me Leia.”

Between missions and reviewing intel, your sparring sessions turn into lessons with Kenobi guiding you. Leia picks up lightsaber combat at a frightening speed. You think for a split second that she would have made a frightening Inquisitor and are thankful she never was. In the beginning, you still have to hand in your lightsaber every time you’re done and then, one day, they forget to collect it.

(Or perhaps they don’t forget, but they’ve learned to trust you.)

Your dreams get worse still. They’re all similar nowadays. You’re staring at your own dead body, a woman screaming, a dead man, Stormtroopers, the Emperor’s laughter.

(Your own blue eyes, innocent still and full of love, saying something you can’t quite hear.)

You know they’re not visions because visions leave you exhausted in a different way. You mention them to Leia only once and for the next week, Kenobi stares at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You want to be mad at Leia for telling him, but you can’t because she was right to do so, especially because your night terrors start interfering with your daily life.

“I nearly took off your head!” Leia shouts.

You smile apologetically. “But you didn’t.”

“It was much too close still,” Kenobi speaks up. “You are tired.”

It’s not a question and you’re glad he’s not giving you the opportunity to argue. You’re not sure how understandable your defense would have been.

“I am dreaming,” you reply.

“Of what?”

Of memories you shouldn’t have. You notice only belated that you must have said it out loud, because Leia looks at you in worry, while Kenobi’s body language speaks of resignation.

“What do you see in your dreams?”

You shouldn’t answer.

You do.

“I’m in a desert. A woman is calling me, then she’s screaming.” Red lightsabers are flashing and you try to reach her, but they keep pulling you back. “I want to help her, but the Emperor keeps pulling at my mind-”

Recognition flashes in Kenobi’s eyes and you rise up to your full height. You’re shorter than him, but you know from experience that you’re no less intimidating.

“You know what’s wrong with me,” you accuse him. “Tell me and fix it!”

(Here’s the ugly truth you’re told:)

Kenobi lost his entire life in just one day, but the thought of ending his life to join them never crossed his mind because he had a child to protect. A son, a boy, he brought to his family on his father’s home world. The child grew up happy and loved, but the one moment Kenobi did look away, the Empire found him and took him.

He spent nine years mourning the child he failed to protect, then you showed up at Vader’s side.

(Here’s the ugly truth you remember:)

There was a blonde boy sitting next to you, your exact mirror image. People came and went, took him and then you to test your abilities and skills and a thousand different things you do not want to recall because they left you in tatters. The Emperor wanted a means to control Vader, so here the two of you were.

You were all each other had, so you shared dreams and memories, strength and pain, hope and stories. One of you was older, but by the end of the first month, it didn’t matter because you were of the same blood.

Your bond wasn’t made out of orange cords, but it served the same purpose. There is a reason highly Force-sensitive people shouldn’t be cloned and, above that, should never form a bond with their mirror image.

You remember dying. You remember mourning your brother.

(You blocked it all out to protect yourself.)

“But- but I’m the clone!” You shout, but your defense sounds weak even to your own ears. “I’m the clone of Vader’s dead child and he never wanted me.”

You do not want any of the memories to be real, but you remember bright blue eyes and think the reason you never wanted to be a Sith, is the brother made from your own flesh whom you curled up to at night.

“You’re nobody’s dead child or clone,” Kenobi, Old Ben, says softly. “You can’t fake Force signatures and I know yours, Luke.”

You flinch when you hear him say that name. You used to share it, whisper it so silently, you think you never actually said it out loud.

You have a name, you always had, and the Emperor stole it from you.

There are constants to every universe. The Sith will always return. Alderaan will always be the witness of terrible slaughter.

Darth Vader will always fight his child on Bespin.

The parameters of all these events are what vary from universe to universe. In this one, Vader is the one attacking while you are trying to stay defensive. You ought to kill him, it would bring the Rebellion one step closer to the Emperor, but you’ve seen what fighting for a cause instead of yourself does to people.

(You’re fairly sure Vader hasn’t fought for himself in years.)

Vader corners you. For all that you have grown stronger, he has thirty years of experience compared to your mere fifteen. This is never a fight you can win, in any universe.

But you aren’t trying to win. You just need him to lose.

“You are beaten. It is useless to resist,” Vader rasps as his lightsaber bears down on yours.

(You know you can’t keep this up much longer.)

“The Emperor never told you what happened to your son,” you say.

Mentioning the dead child, the vod you lost, shocks Vader long enough for you to jump away and put some distance between the two of you.

“He died, you filthy copy!” Vader shouts.

You want to laugh or cry perhaps because for the first time in all these years, Vader acknowledges you.

“Yes.” You shake your head. “But I am your son.”

“No! That’s impossible! How dare you lie to me-”

“Search your feelings, Father, you know it to be true. My name is Luke Skywalker and the Emperor lied to you.”

Your confession doesn’t stop Vader from lashing out. You still lose your hand and Han is still captured and you still fall and it is still Leia who guides Lando back to you.

But other things change.

You’re on Tatooine, standing at the graves of people you hardly recalled, the family who died for your survival when he approaches you. He’s still wearing his black suit, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to slowly take your other limbs apart.

“Who is the boy I buried on Naboo?”

You are genetically identical, there is no way to say who was the clone and who the boy stolen from the desert. It should not matter, it does not matter, because his death was a tragedy regardless.

“My brother. Your son.”

(You.)

“Then the Emperor will pay.”

(He does.)

#star wars #Luke Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #darth vader #commander cody #fanfic #just go read this on AO3 it's long af

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klivianjade · 5 years

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Fifty Credits Says I Don’t

Chapter 2

Mara washed her hands in the fresher and for a brief moment, considered spending the rest of the evening basking in her current state of intoxication. The woman looking back at her in the mirror was practically glowing, carefree, and definitely pretty drunk. Mara shook her head at her own pathetic introspection. It was a stupid idea. She needed to cleanse her system of most of the alcohol to be at her best. Taking a deep breath, she reached out with the force preparing to ground herself in it, only to hit a wall. Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t feel anything.

It was subtle enough to go unnoticed until she tried to reach out but once she was aware of the change, it’s all she could feel. Like having a damp blanket over her shoulders. It made her feel heavy and the alcohol certainly wasn’t helping.

“Fracking hells.” She gripped the bathroom counter. This couldn’t be happening. She checked her com link, confirming her suspicions that the signal was being jammed. If someone went through enough trouble to interfere with a person’s connection to the force, it would be stupid to leave an open com signal. Mara gathered herself as best as she could considering the room was slightly spinning. Leaving her mask on the counter, she cracked the fresher door enough to see into the ballroom.

She didn’t need the force to sense the panic of the crowd as she searched for familiar faces, easily slipping into assassin mode. She was just about to close the door when it was suddenly yanked open, bringing her face to face with a menacing trandoshan.

The alien bared his teeth and grabbed her upper arms, tearing the sleeves of her gown with his claws. He drug her over to what she assumed was one of his accomplices, who then held up a piece of equipment to her face. The machine beeped and Mara realized that it was a facial recognition scanner. Great. So these guys aren’t amateurs.

They were obviously looking for someone, she just hoped it wasn’t her.

“Mara Jade, as I live and breathe.” The second guy was a human as far as she could tell, though his face was heavily scarred. “It looks like we’ve caught ourselves an assassin.” He grabbed her face with one hand, inspecting her like a piece of wooshyr fruit. “I think you’ll do nicely.”

Before Mara could react, he slammed the butt of a blaster into the side of her face and everything went black.

—-

Mara woke to someone calling her name. The voice sounded familiar but she was too intoxicated to put her finger on who it belonged to, not to mention the throbbing pain on the left side of her face. She struggled to open her eyes and immediately regretted it when the room began to spin. She focused on her breathing, trying to ground herself when she noticed her arms were restrained behind her back and there were several other beings pressed up against her.

Certain she had her bearings, she opened her eyes one more time to see two guards blocking the entrance to the room and a body lying in a pool of blood several meters away. Their captors looked young and inexperienced, to which she thanked the force. There were others in the room, restrained against the wall, but no one she immediately recognized.

“Mara! Can you hear me?”

Skywalker.

She turned her head towards the sound of his voice and was rewarded with a sharp pain in her neck. She could feel a warm trickle of blood running down the side of her face coming from her hairline.

“Mara, can you hear me?” He repeated.

“Loud and clear farmboy.” She managed, gritting her teeth. She realized that her restraints were connected to his and for a brief second thought that maybe their captors weren’t as clever as she originally thought. That is, until she noticed that the two other beings in their cozy little hostage circle were Corran Horn and Wes Janson. Great. We’re doomed.

“Nice of you to join us Jade,” Corran said, sounding a little too enthusiastic. “You don’t look too hot.”

“Thanks Horn. That means a lot coming from you.” She rolled her eyes to the best of her ability as she continued to scan the room. They were in a holding room just off of the main ballroom. It was typically used for coat storage and the likes, but tonight it served a different purpose. “What’s with the dead guy?” She addressed the bantha in the room.

“Some delegate from Ithor. He wasn’t having a good time so they put him out of his misery.” Wes chimed in. “It’s like a murder mystery, without the mystery.”

Luke groaned. “Too soon, Wes.”

“Alright, so what did I miss?” Mara asked as she tried to clear her vision.

“Not much. Just that we’re all a little drunk, can’t feel the force, and our new friends over there have decided to start killing people.” Corran supplied with a shrug.

“Fantastic.” Mara replied and turned to Luke. “What do they want?”

“Leia.”

Mara nodded. She figured as much. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first attempt on Organa-Solo’s life and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It came with the territory.

“Is she safe?”

Luke nodded. Mara was certain there were safe rooms hidden throughout the ballroom. The original architects were so clever that even the former Emperor’s hand didn’t know exactly where they were located.

“Good. We need a plan.” Mara thought for a moment. “I suggest we use Janson as a human shield to get past the guards in this room.”

Wes turned towards her with a horrified look on his face.

“Come on Jade! I thought we had something special?” He whined.

“Only in your wildest dreams.” She would never admit it out loud, but Mara had a soft spot for Wes Janson.

“If you two are done flirting, we need to make an actual plan because if I’m being completely honest here, Jade’s idea is more of a ‘plan B’ sort of thing.” Corran supplied.

“Plan B? Come on Horn! You’re supposed to be on my side. Bros before—“

“Wes,” Luke interjected. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

A brief moment of silence passed between the four of them.

“Surely between the four of us we can equal one sober brain and a decent plan that won’t get half of the people in here killed.” Luke said. “Mara, do you still have those zenjii needles?” He knew it was a long shot but he was holding on to hope that she was still somewhat armed.

She wriggled a bit, feeling for her weapons and grunted in frustration.

“Negative. I guess they were pretty thorough while I was unconscious.” Mara was pretty sure she wouldn’t be drinking for a while once she got out of this. It was more of a blow to her pride than anything. She didn’t like being on this side of things.

Mara was just about to resign herself to a lifetime of being chained to three drunk idiots when she had an epiphany.

“My hair!” She exclaimed in a quiet voice.

“Yes Mara,” Corran said with his eyes closed, looking like he was about to fall asleep from boredom. “We all think your hair is pretty.”

“No, jackass” She shoulder checked him as best she could considering their current situation. “I have a pin in my hair!” She whisper-yelled. “Can one of you reach it?”

Luke leaned towards her, trying to be inconspicuous as he looked for what could possibly be their way out. He tried to contain his excitement as he spotted the silver glint of a hair pin in her mass of red gold curls.

“I see it! Lean towards me, I think I can reach it.”

Thankful for once in his life that he was cuffed to Mara Jade, he buried his head in her mane attempting to maneuver the pin out with his teeth. He would never admit it out loud but he had fantasized about burying his face in her unruly hair, however, the circumstances in his mind were vastly different.

The minutes ticked by as Mara and Luke worked together on the task at hand, their companions growing more impatient by the second until Wes couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“Look, I enjoy a good hostage situation just as much as the next guy, but maybe we could try to wrap this up? I’m starving.” Leave it to Janson to think with his stomach at a time like this.

“Ughh, I would LITERALLY die for a nerf steak right now.” Corran said, sounding exasperated.

“If you stop whining and we survive this,” Mara bargained, “I’ll buy both of you a nerf steak. Now shut up and let the farmboy work!”

After several failed attempts, Luke worked the pin out with his teeth and dropped it over his shoulder, barely catching it with his restrained hands.

“Got it!” He found her wrists and began to pick the lock on her restraints. He had to admit that he wasn’t very skilled in picking locks the old fashioned way, but determination was a powerful thing.

—-

Once Mara’s hands were free, they formed a plan. The two guards in their room appeared young and easily fooled, but just in case they were wrong, Luke crossed his fingers as Mara set things in motion.

“Listen Skywalker, I’m tired of protecting your family.” Mara raised her voice, sounding irate. “I should have ended you on Mrykr when I had the chance!” She pretended to fight against the restraints, drawing the attention of the guards. “If I give you information on the whereabouts of Organa-Solo,” she addressed their captors, “will someone get me away from these kriffing rebels?”

Corran and Wes had the good sense to look offended at her tirade.

The guards, two young human males, approached their group glancing at each other not entirely convinced.

“Jade, please don’t do this.” Luke pleaded quietly, sounding desperate. “If you want credits I have plenty, just don’t betray my sister like this.” He drew in a breath. “Especially after Leia pardoned you for your crimes against the New Republic.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You owe her this much.”

Maybe it was the liquor, but he swore he saw her shudder involuntarily.

“You’ve controlled me long enough with your Jedi mind tricks Skywalker. Now that you’ve had your precious force abilities taken away from you, Im free to make my own decisions.” She spat. “I will do whatever it takes to survive.”

That last little quip seemed to seal the deal as the guards came closer, taking the bait.

“Take me to your boss. I’ll tell him everything I know.”

One guard, the shorter of the two, leaned down so that he was at eye level with Mara. He grabbed a lock of her fiery hair and twisted it around his fingers.

“Nice try assassin, but you’re going to have to do better than that.” He chuckled, his rancid breath hitting her square in the face. Mara looked disappointed for a brief second.

“Oh I plan on it.” A feral grin flashed across her face before she struck.

Lunging forward, she kneed the first guard between the legs before punching him in the throat, temporarily disarming him. Guard number two raised his weapon, preparing to shoot when she ducked and swept his feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a thud and she kicked the blaster out of his hand before diving on top of him.

She used her momentum to flip him into his stomach and slammed his face into the floor repeatedly until he lost consciousness. She stood and picked up the discarded blaster before striding over the the first guard who was still clutching at his damaged member. She noticed the tears leaking from his eyes as she slammed the butt of the blaster into the side of his face, knocking him out cold.

Looking pleased with her work, Mara stretched her arms, happy to be free of the restraints. Turning to her companions, she noticed their slack jawed expressions.

“What?”

“That was...intense.” Wes sputtered.

Mara looked genuinely offended.

“Did you expect me to sing them to sleep?” She huffed, nudging one of the guards with her foot for emphasis. “Now, do you want me to take off those restraints or have you formed an emotional attachment to them?”

They made quick work of freeing the other beings in the room, instructing them to stay put while they dealt with the rest of captors in the main ballroom.

“Should we crawl through the ventilation system?” Wes suggested excitedly. “I feel like we should. I saw it in a holovid once and it looked pretty fun.”

Luke chuckled to himself, hoping that Wes was just trying to give Mara a hard time.

“You know Janson, if I didn’t have your personal file in my apartment, I would find it hard to believe you fought in the rebellion and actually survived.” She shook her head. “So to answer your question, no. We’re not going to crawl through the ventilation system when we could just walk through the damn door.” She picked up the remaining blaster, keeping one for herself and giving the other one to Luke.

Wes looked hurt that he didn’t get a weapon and was about to say something when Luke patted him on the shoulder.

“Maybe next time buddy.” Earning a snicker from Corran.

#mara jade #luke skywalker #ao3 update #wiptober #star wars

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jadedjo · 5 years

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2019 Fic Writing Update

The year is a little more than half over and I thought I would post an update on everything I have in the WIPs folder, what’s actually getting written, what got added, and what got done.

Here is what has been completed and posted.

Crossing A Line With a new Force bond firmly in place, Luke and Mara must now navigate this unexpected turn in their relationship. How do you go from friends to lovers because the Force wills it? Post-Nirauan story. Part 1 of Getting To Know You Series

Not Just Another Day Luke gives Mara a gift on his birthday.

Return To Endor Cindel Towani is alone in the galaxy. She returns to the one place where she felt at home. The forest moon of Endor. She just prays that the one person she most wants to see is still there.

I Get Off Very NSFW He could have called you ‘Master.’ Like I do sometimes.” Mara's voice was a smoky purr in his ear. Her arms slipped around Luke’s waist from behind. Luke smiled. “I don’t think it would be the same as when you do it.” “It better not be … Skywalker.” Luke jumped as one of her hands gave his stomach a slap. — Destiny’s Way, Chapter 3. by Walter Jon Williams

Just how does Mara call Luke 'Master'? In the sexiest way possible.

4 Times Mara Noticed Luke's Feet and 1 Time Luke Noticed Mara's Mild NSFW Mara never thought of herself as finding feet attractive. Until she spotted the toes of one Luke Skywalker. ~~~ Luke never paid much attention to Mara's feet. But they'd never been encased in shiny black leather before.

And a handful of drabbles that can be found on my AO3 Account: JadeDjo

What is still in the WIP Folder

The Jedi Academy Mystery

My re-write of the Legends books Jedi Academy Books. Mainly Jedi Apprentice in which Mara stays on Yavin IV to investigate the death of Gantoris because it isn't known who killed him. I was trying for a gritty, hard-boiled style but now I’d settle for done. Writing a mystery is harder than I thought.

So Far Away - Amnesia Fic On Hiatus as I think I need to revamp it a bit.

Luke gets Amnesia and Mara has to deal with the consequence. But unlike a few amnesia fics I’ve read this one doesn’t deal with Mara trying to get Luke’s memories back but how she lives her life and deals with the Jedi looking to her for leadership after Luke’s new personality wants nothing to do with his old life.

The House That Built You

Luke and Mara go to Tattooine to investigate people disappearing from Luke’s old hometown and find a secret slave trade underneath the nose of Gorga the Hutt. Written from Mara and Luke’s old friends POV’s its an analysis of how Luke has changed from Farm Boy to Jedi Master.

Times Like These

This is the sequel to Because the Night. I wanted it to be the final resolution to L/M’s sexy time woes but is turning into Smuggler Politics and a Shirlee Faughn and Mara Jade friendship fic with L/M tacked onto the end.

Plot Bunnies the Muse as thrown at me

Technically all the drabbles, I Get Off, and Not Just Another Day are all started and completed this year because the ideas wouldn’t leave me alone.

Some more that have hit me in the head are:

Apocalypse Yavin Hopefully this years Halloween Fic. This was born out of the Rise of Skywalker images of the crashed Death Star.

Luke is reeling with the revelations Vader is his father, needing to get used to a malfunctioning new right hand, and needing to save his friend from carbonite. He also needs a new lightsaber but is unsure how to find a Kyber crystal. Ben comes to him and tells him to find one on Yavin IV which is now a wasteland due to the falling debris from the first death star. What he finds on Yavin IV is a hellscape with the bones of the Death Star at its heart and the eerie feeling that something in the Force is in pain, crying out for release.

Start of Something Good Part 2 of the Getting To Know You Series

Luke and Mara need to get from Ansion to Coruscant. The only problem is there is no one to pick them up. Having to take public transport they find that getting to know someone slowly is a lot more difficult when there is only one bed.

Jedi Temple Altar Sex this is working title and pretty much all you need to know but what plot there is puts Mara and Luke in conflict until they find a hidden chamber of a long-forgotten Jedi Temple. Since the purpose of this chamber is to promote harmony and conflict resolution their mind shields are stripped and they must confront their issues. Then comes the make-up sex. As I said, the working title says it all.

#jade writes #my writing #sw fan fic #fan fiction #star wars #mid year review #luke skywalker #mara jade #mara jade skywalker

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jedimordsith · 6 years

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Trans-dimensional travel L/M plot bunny

42 BBY (2 years post Sacrifice)

“I want to see her.”

“Luke -.”

“She already knows I’m here.”

“Luke.”

“You let my son see her.”

“Ben snuck in,” Wedge defended, frustrated.

“I will too, if I have to. She’s my wife.”

“No,” Antilles said, resignation and compassion heavy on his face. “She isn’t.”

Luke sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “I know that,” he relented, slightly. “I do. But I have to see her. Please, Wedge.”

“Ten minutes,” Antilles agreed, finally. “Off the record.” He looked at his friend seriously. “Just be careful, Luke.��

The Jedi Master nodded. A few moments later, he stood in front of a non-descript but heavily guarded door. He wondered for a moment, absurdly, if he should press the annunciator. Then, shaking his head at himself, he pressed the door controls and stepped inside.

She was waiting for him, her back to the wide windows of the suite they’d deigned to keep her in in place of a cell, arms folded across her chest. His first thought was that she really wasn’t his Mara at all. There were no grey strands in her thick, red-gold braid. No crows feet in the fine skin around her eyes. And her younger frame was marred in Force by painful fault lines his Mara had not borne, evident even with the strong shields she armored herself with and the odd but vaguely familiar blurriness that marked his feel of her.

“Skywalker.” Her voice was the same, though. Down to the low, cautious inflection she’d used when things got tense between them in the days before they were married.

“Mara.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You don’t have to shield that hard.”

Luke sidestepped her point and walked a little stiffly to the small conform couch that made up half the suite’s seating circle. He sat down, slowly, never taking his eye off of her. He wanted to ask if it was him that made her shield so fiercely, or the product of whatever had ravaged her so badly in her universe.

Her universe.

That multiple dimensions existed had been a known scientific fact for millennia. That beings could cross over and become stranded was also known. But no one in recorded history had ever crossed over intentionally, and none of the former cross-overs had been sentient beings.

“Is it true what they’re saying? You crossed over on purpose?”

Mara Jade nodded, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity Luke remembered well.

“May I ask why?” Luke made his voice intentionally calm and gentle, despite the unreasonable and warring desires of his heart.

“Personal reasons.” She said it crisply, but her eyes stayed fixed on him with a look that bordered on hunger – and contained no small amount of anxiety.

Luke tried to imagine what would have driven Mara – any version of her – to something so extreme. His gut knotted. “Who was in danger?”

Mara said nothing, but every line of her body went even tighter than it had been.

“Ben?” His brow furrowed. “No, you wouldn’t have come without him. Or wouldn’t have let yourself be taken if you were here to get something for him.” Blurriness, his mind prompted. He cast about for why that sensation was familiar. Then his eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.” The word came out pinched with pain.

Luke stood up and had taken two steps toward her before he could make himself stop. She wasn’t his. He couldn’t assume the right to touch her. But the baby -. He swallowed hard. “Is it mine?”

Mara’s arms dropped to her sides, fists clenching. “She’s mine.”

A daughter. Luke planted his feet to keep from swaying. “Please – I didn’t mean it that way. I would never -.”

“Yes,” Mara said again, suddenly looking exhausted and fragile. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, protectively. “I couldn’t let anyone take her from me.”

Luke had a million questions, but all of them were overridden by a sudden and ferocious protectiveness. “Come home with me.”

Mara’s shock showed on her face. “What?”

“Let me help you.” He stepped closer, hands out soothingly as if that could somehow mitigate the blazing energy he knew he was giving off. “I don’t know why your Luke didn’t – couldn’t? – but I will. Anything you need, Mara.” He glanced at her abdomen, still hidden under her crossed hands. “Anything she needs.”

“You already have a son,” she said, watching him, a slender thread of hope winding through her sense.

Luke smiled, almost ruefully. “He was ready to bring you home yesterday. Now I know why. Come with me, Jade,” he coaxed, holding out his hands. Wedge would kill him for this but, when she stepped tentatively into his arms and then all but collapsed against his chest, Luke couldn’t bring himself to care.

#plot bunny #sw #luke x mara #skycrawlers #interdimensional travel

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jedidryad · 7 months

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I shall endeavour to mind my own business, Master.

Mara's first evening at the academy does not bode well for her future training, and then even her escape plan is taken away from her. This chapter is a long one. Lightsabers Are Always Loaded: Chapter 18.

#epic!bio #mara jade #luke skywalker #luke and mara at crossed purposes #corran horn #kam solusar #tionne #kyp durron #jedi academy trilogy #i jedi #stolen ships #Mara needs a hug #Luke hasn't noticed that yet

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threadsketchier · 6 years

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Plotting Course

because apparently rewriting Zahn one scene at a time is my life now, whoops

The ending of The Last Command, with way less wrap-up expository dialogue and way more honey-nut feelios. (Shout-out to @teagrl for helping me figure out the title.) You can consider this linked to “Exit Strategy” and “A Hard Question” any other potential Zahn 2.0 ficlets I might do in the future.

Read it at AO3.

The setting sun bathed Coruscant’s glittering cityscape in gold, a familiar evening sight whose artificial beauty held no significant meaning to Mara every other time she’d witnessed it. Reconnaissance had often been her chief purpose for observing this landscape, not idle admiration. But now, in this moment, the towers and their lights, and the unceasing lines of speeder traffic crossing the skies like cells flowing through angular blood vessels, felt profound in their unimportance. Leaning against the chest-high, wrought-stone railing at the edge of the Palace rooftop, she could take in this quiet yet immense spectacle of urban life for no other reason than her personal enjoyment.

A light, cool breeze played with the few rogue strands of hair she hadn’t bothered to secure. There was something pleasantly scandalous about the fact that she was also up here to delay her attendance at an official meeting. Let them wait a little longer, she thought. Selfishness wasn’t meant to be a cherished trait, but she was finding it more of an indulgence lately, in these small ways.

Twenty meters behind her, the access door slid open, and she scarcely needed the Force to discern who was coming. Mara didn’t move, waiting for his footsteps to approach. When she saw his elbow rest atop the railing out of the corner of her eye, she finally looked aside at him.

To his credit, Luke wasn’t staring back at her, but over the city, just as she’d been doing. Silently Mara turned her mind’s eye to him in like manner as her new appraisal of the world and tried to see him just as a man - a man who, embroiled in war, had to have lost as much as she had. What had he sacrificed and suffered while she’d been fighting for her sanity and mourning the death of her master and livelihood?

His countenance seemed peaceful but his shoulders were set low, curled in rather meekly, his hands clasped together tightly. His nervousness and expectation were painfully evident.

Turning his face to her, Luke offered a ghost of a smile and asked in friendly concern, “How are you doing?”

Mara pursed her lips and shrugged. The hollowness in her chest wasn’t filled with this new world, the place she’d once called home and then been forced to flee. She was fortunate enough to return and start anew; it hadn’t even begun to mend the gaping wound of her old life, torn freshly open by the damning realization of how pointless it had really been, but the void also held promise. That void could be shaped and redefined.

“It’s just strange,” she replied. “This was home, but I didn’t...think of it that way. Now it’s...not exactly home anymore, but…it could be.”

His smile stretched, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, an empathy that still unsettled her in its desire to embrace her. She saw his fingers loosen and got the distinct impression that he wished to reach out and grasp her hand, but resisted the urge. Part of her appreciated his restraint while the other felt a brief pang of longing for that same connection they’d shared on Wayland.

Luke cleared his throat softly and said, “I know you have a decision to make - ”

She sighed loudly, any potential tenderness between them evaporating. “You know, Karrde’s an even worse idealist than you, if you can believe that. It’ll be a cold day in all nine Corellian hells before he’ll be able to hold a smuggler’s coalition together, and think that I’ll have the patience to wrangle them without a body count.”

That drew a sincere, hearty chuckle out of Luke. “What do you think that says about your choice in companions?”

Mutually they froze at his last word, Mara staring incredulously and Luke’s laughter dying out in a sort of awkward terror. His cheeks began to flush and it definitely wasn’t the wind. He swallowed, eyes flicking down to their boots and back up again several times before his features softened with an odd expression between shyness and resolve.

A long woven vest was draped over his tailored black jumpsuit, and something that jutted out slightly from his hip lay obscured beneath it, unlike his lightsaber hooked openly to the sash and belt across his waist. Pushing aside the loose fabric, Luke revealed another chrome and black cylinder, removing and hefting it in his hand for a moment, then holding it out to her.

“I just...wanted you to have this.”

Mara blinked in confusion. It was the lightsaber that his clone had wielded. A practical, though bizarre, trophy; perhaps he was giving it to her simply because he had one of his own and wanted to restore a part of her old arsenal again, having seen her limited experience with the weapon. “Why are you giving me this?” she blurted.

Luke considered the thing with both a treasured fondness and an anguish that bordered on physical pain. “This was my father’s lightsaber. My teacher kept it after he turned to the Dark Side and became Vader, and then gave it to me right before...everything happened. When my father and I fought at Bespin - before I knew who he was - I lost my right hand and the lightsaber went with it. I never thought I’d see it again.”

Mara gazed at the weapon with a new understanding that made her hands tingle. This was Vader’s sword. Even if he’d constructed it beforehand - which meant he’d been a Jedi once, and that opened an entire new vault of questions - this was Vader’s sword. She had a chance to own one of his instruments, to carry it forward into her life while he was dead and gone.

And yet her petty hatred of him was now tempered with a faint dissatisfaction at the notion of how much more pathetic he’d truly been, beyond what she’d even imagined. Pathetic but obviously revered, perhaps even cared for by his son.

Small wonder then that Luke could regard her so easily and gently.

“So why are you giving me this, then?” she asked again, itching but bewildered. If he’d been dismembered while using it, and built a replacement, he had good reason to distance himself from it, but it was still an heirloom and held a great deal of personal meaning to him.

Luke set his jaw and extended it out to her for emphasis. “Because you’ve earned it.”

Ah. Now he was speaking her language. The old endorphins fired across her brain even as her body registered an unfamiliar cognitive dissonance with them; she hadn’t quite expected Luke to say that, but it was something she was accustomed to. A reward and encouragement for her skills and mettle. Slowly, with surprising reluctance, Mara reached out to take the lightsaber. It was heavy and large for her grip, built for a much taller man, but she would learn to work with it.

“But please don’t misunderstand me,” Luke added, and she saw that his eyes were pleading. “Not everything has to be earned. There’s so much potential in you to learn the ways of the Force, Mara, on your own terms. But there’s more to you than what you can prove.” He came half a step closer. “You’ve overcome, Mara. That’s enough.”

She gazed back at him, the lightsaber’s hilt warming to her touch, the ridges of its grip digging into her palm. “I’ve got a long way to go,” she murmured.

He nodded, that hesitant smile returning. “I know. But you’ve started. I guess...I just want you to know you don’t have to walk that path alone.”

His hand closed over hers around the lightsaber, warm and rough, and squeezed, thumb stroking once across her knuckles. Then he released her, and with a silent wistful farewell in his eyes he turned away and walked back toward the door.

He wasn’t expecting her to make a choice now, she realized. He was well aware of her impending, inevitable duties to the burgeoning Smugglers’ Alliance. This was less of an expectation and more of a vow, the same one he’d given her just outside of Mount Tantiss. He was going to be there, no matter where she went.

“Hey,” she called out before he could shut the door behind him. Luke pivoted on his heel, eyes sparkling like the city lights.

“Hang on a minute, I’ll come with you.”

#*shoves my nerds together*#my fics #star wars #mara jade #luke skywalker #OTP for life #legends eu #zahn 2.0

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jedidryad · 1 year

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WIP:I could sense he was not as serene as he looked

One of the challenges in writing Lightsabers are Always Loaded has been writing Luke and Mara constantly feeling alienated from one another and speaking at cross-purposes. Writing a broken relationship hurts, and it might hurt to read. So, as an antidote, here’s a bit from part 5 - during Vision of the Future when they are slowly recognizing how much they care about one another. This is an excerpt from negotiating with the Qom Jha, who had “captured” Mara on Nirauan. She needs Luke to help her understand them, and they have to work together for the first time in a long time…

He then announced the arrival of the Bargainer and I grimaced at the realization that I would need a translator. Why couldn’t I understand them?

“It sure would make things easier,” Luke acknowledged when I expressed my frustration, and then, after a beat, he asked for my hand.

I held out my left to him and asked what he had in mind.

“I can sense them and we can sense each other. If we can make that connection strong enough..”

His grip tightened on mine and I strained to hear if it made a difference. After a moment, it became clear that hand holding wouldn’t do it. Luke murmured a nearly silent apology as he slid behind me, slipped an arm around my waist and dropped his head down to mine. Had I been facing him, we would have held the primary position of a Hosnian Bolero.

I fought the instinct to stiffen, and realized my heart was pounding harder than was necessary. His arm was warm on my waist, his breath soft in my ear.

Since when did another person affect me like this? Since when did Luke?

And then I gasped as I realized the jumbled sounds had coalesced into separate voices that I could understand. It was like a transmission finally syncing on the right frequency.

Luke tightened his arm briefly in a celebration of success and I settled in to follow the conversation.

The conversation was remarkably disturbing. The Qom Jha didn’t want me there. Apparently they had attempted to contact Luke and warn him to keep me away from the planet – although I couldn’t imagine why they thought that would be a useful approach, and the Bargainer who called himself “Eater of Fire Creepers” seemed less interested in explaining why I was in danger than in finding the right being to blame for Luke not receiving the messages. This did not bode well for a productive discussion.

And Eater of Fire Creepers did not seem to care, as he settled on blaming Luke’s guide on behalf of all of the Qom Qae. Kriff, couldn’t we go anywhere without running into hostility and skirmishes?

I sensed what might have been wry sympathy from Luke, but it was quickly subsumed in concern as he ordered the Qom Jha to leave Child of Winds alone.

They did not, and with an obvious reluctance, he stepped away from me and into a defensive stance as he ignited his lightsaber and repeated his command.

“Leave him alone and I will question him.”

That should do it. After so many years, Luke had perfected the tone and pose of power and intimidation. His words seemed to reverberate through the Force and against the cavern walls. It was impressive, I had to admit.

But it didn’t work. They continued to harass Child of Winds, and I watched the avian pull further into his crevice. Either the Qom Jha didn’t know Luke was the real deal, or they didn’t care. Neither possibility could be tolerated though. They needed to be shown.

I waited for Luke to advance on them, to throw his lightsaber, to do something. He didn’t. Why not?

Reaching out, I could sense he was not as serene as he looked. He was frantically trying to come up with a nonviolent way to intervene on behalf of his guide. Of course, I suddenly realized, his every act was being judged against the mantle of the Jedi Master that he always had to wear. Whether he wanted it or not, everything he did reflected the Jedi and needed to match how he wanted them to be perceived in the galaxy.

I, ex-assassin, smuggler, semi-redeemed war criminal, had no such strictures.

I grabbed my holdout and fired. I sent three bolts into precise locations around Child of Winds’ hiding place, close enough to almost singe the beaks of the harassing avians without doing any actual damage.

They backed off and silence rang in the echoes of my shots.

I had everyone’s attention.

“A minute ago you called him Master,” I reminded the insolent crowd. “Is he a Jedi Master to be respected, or isn’t he?”

I settled into a combat stance and allowed the threat in my tone and words to communicate the danger they would be in if they continued this sort of disrespect.

Luke’s emotions drifted from embarrassment to disapproval.

Ungrateful of him.

The birds were speaking again and, having stepped away from Luke, I had no idea what they were saying.

“Translation?” I muttered, trying to keep the redness out of my cheeks as the weakness of my strategy became apparent. This was beyond frustrating and I was certain Luke could tell.

“He said, ‘You have no place to speak thus to the Bargainer for the Qom Jha’,” Luke gallantly translated as he slid his arms back around me and I tried to focus on what he said, despite the sudden warmth of his breath against my neck. What was wrong with me?

#epic!bio #luke x mara #vision of the future #part 5 #mandatory cuddling #I think we might like each other

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jadedjo · 5 years

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Man Out of Time

More from my time travel au. Mara will have her say! So prepare for a poorly edited dialogue dump on the nature of the Jedi.

Previous installments:

Obi-Wan

Luke

3. Mara

She shouldn’t be doing this. As a Jedi Apprentice it was not her place. But as the wife of the head of the Jedi Order she felt like abusing her privileged status for the greater good. Even if that meant not preventing evil from taking over the galaxy.

Mara found Obi-Wan Kenobi in the Grand Audience Chamber. Seated on the floor before the lecture like any adept. Having removed his battle armor he appeared like any other man in meditation might. Expressions smoothed out as the Force flowed through him.

She made no effort to hide her approach and let her footfalls echo through the cavernous space. By the time she had reached him, Kenobi was standing and giving her a half bow.

“Pardon me,” he said before she could speak. “I was told no one would be up here for a while yet. If you’ll excuse me.” He started to move around her and toward the lift when she spoke up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Actually, Master Kenobi, I am here to speak with you.”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said with a regretful shake of his head. “I fear I am not up to conversation at the moment. Too much on my mind.”

“I realize that,” Mara said. “It was my husband who gave you so much to think about.”

He started at her remark and stared at her face for a moment before dropping his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he apologized again. “I’m not sure I can get used to Jedi so casually mentioning being romantically linked. Jedi…?”

“Mara Jade Skywalker,” she finished for him. “But not a Jedi yet, still an apprentice.” And before he could remark on that she asked, truly curious despite her mission, “Was it really so unheard of in your day for a Jedi to fall in love?”

“It happened,” he admitted then smiled ruefully. “To me even at one point.”

Her eyebrows shot up and had she been anyone else but a former Imperial Undercover Operative, no doubt her jaw would have dropped in surprise.

He chuckled, “It was a long time ago and had she asked I would have left the Order for her. But she didn’t and I have dedicated my life to the Jedi way.”

“But why even need to leave the Order?” Mara asked, seeing the opening she needed if her plan was to succeed.

“Because attachment is not the Jedi way,” he recited and she could feel waver in his emotions.

“But love is,” she countered.

“Not romantic love, possessive love,” he told her.

“Who said anything about possessive? My love for Luke is not possessive, nor he for me. It is a partnership built on trust, understanding, and love. Are there no relationships like that in your life?”

“Not that…. intimate,” he said delicately.

“Just because we have sex doesn’t change the nature of our love,” and she saw him wince at her forthrightness. “It just makes it more interesting. But sex aside, I have other platonic relationships with friends whom I love. Do those relationships mean attachment?”

“No, not necessarily…,”

“Then how is love with romantic elements added any different?” she asked.

“Is this what you wished to speak with me about?” Master Kenobi asked back, trying to deflect her questioning.

Letting him off the hook for the moment she said, “In a way. I know Luke told you all about the past, your future, and has said that it will be up to you to decided what to do with that information.”

“Yes,” he said regaining his equilibrium, controlling and shielding his emotions better so she could almost feel his relief at letting the former subject go. His body language became more upright and confident. “Yes, I can’t believe that Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord. Right in our midst and we didn’t even see it. And to know that he corrupted Anakin to turn from the Order, I can see why Luke told me everything he did.”

“But do you truly understand it,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” he looked at her quizzically. “What is there to understand? I can prevent a great evil from befalling the galaxy. It is my duty as a Jedi to act.”

“Actually, it’s not your duty as a Jedi. A Jedi’s purpose is to act out the will of the Force, to keep it in balance and helping those who need it. But what if it’s the galaxy that needs help? Or the Jedi for that matter?”

“I fail to see where you’re going with this. If I change your past, won't I be helping the Jedi, keeping the Order and the Republic intact and destroying the Sith?”

“But would you accomplish those goals if you returned?” she reasoned. “You don’t know. But let’s say for augment's sake that you did manage all that. Is what you have then better then what we have now?”

“You wouldn’t have all the death and chaos that Palpatine brings with his Sith Empire,” Master Kenobi insisted.

“Speaking as the Emperor’s former agent AND as a soon to be Jedi,” and she saw him frown at her words but she carried on. “I can tell you that, yes Palpatine needed to be gotten rid of, but the New Republic that has arisen is stronger and more resilient than the old.”

“And the Jedi?” he asked.

“Stronger and more resilient than the old.”

“But all of our knowledge,” Master Kenobi insisted. “A 1000 generations of Jedi history lost. 10,000 Jedi Knights reduced to a few dozen?! And you say this is better?!”

“Yes, better,” she said. “The Purge was horrible. The knowledge that was lost is tragic, but perhaps the old way was becoming stagnant. Unwilling to change.”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this,” he said shaking his head and crossing his arms.

“Just listen Kenobi!” she hissed. “Open your mind to the possibility that you might be wrong. That the Jedi of your time might be wrong. Luke tells the story that when he went to Master Yoda for training the old Master insisted that he was too old. He was only 22 at the time. Then given grief over his caring about his friends.”

Kenobi gasped, “22?! By that age he should have been a Knight or close to it!”

“Brought up by the Jedi, perhaps, but this way he was able to live a relatively normal life with loving caretakers. Have life experience and grow and mature to be able to handle the emotional mantle that being a Jedi requires, even then it was a heavy burden.”

“If he had grown up in the creche that would be automatic,” Kenobi countered.

“And would a Jedi brought up in the creche have forgiven the man who destroyed the Jedi? To see the light in him and through his love, bring an evil man back to the light?”

“What do you mean?” Kenobi frowned at her sudden topic change.

“Did Luke not tell you about Darth Vader?”

“He said that was Anakin’s Sith name.”

“Yes, but did he not tell you about how he saved Vader and returned him to the light?”

“He said Vader killed Palpatine to save him.”

“Only after Luke sacrificed himself by refusing to turn to the Dark Side,” she explained. “In his love for his father, he would not kill him because he felt Vader’s conflict and war within himself. The exact opposite of what you and Yoda told him to do. Palpatine was killing Luke, and Vader killed his Master in order to save his son.”

“He glossed over that part,” Kenobi drawled.

“He doesn’t like reliving it,” Mara conceded. “But could any of your Jedi believe that anyone who turned to the Dark Side could be redeemed?”

“It is said,” Kenobi said tentatively. “That once you turn to the Dark Side you can never come back.”

“Tell that to Anakin Skywalker and Kam Solusar, the man who greeted you upon landing. To Kyp Durron and Kyle Katarn. Tell that to Luke himself who strayed and was brought back by his sister’s love. Tell that to me, who was the Emperor’s most faithful servant and who wanted nothing more than Skywalker’s death by my hands right up to the day I finally met him and received kindness instead. Could your Jedi have forgiven us all? Let us atone for our sins and make amends?

“Could your Jedi have allowed a man who had once been a servant of the Sith to teach the next generation of Jedi. For another to marry a fellow Jedi with virtually no Force ability and only for her love of keeping our history alive?”

“And what should happen if your spouse was captured or killed?” He said. Mara could tell the man was trying to find an argument to counter her without actually answering any of her questions.

“We all know the risk when we accepted the mantle of Jedi. Loss is just a part of life. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t live life to the fullest just because we are scared of loss, but rather because of our fear.”

“Fear is of the dark side,” he quoted but she cut him off. A Jedi Master he may be but even the Master’s in her time were not exempt from her calling them out.

“Only when we let our fear control us.”

She paused for a moment and when Kenobi said nothing further she asked, “The woman you loved. What became of her?”

He seemed to shrink in on himself and Mara knew whatever he said next wouldn’t be happy. “She died, while I was supposed to be protecting her.”

“I’m sorry,” Mara said sincerely. “But if I may point out, her death has not sent you into a dark spiral of loss and anguish. So what makes you think that should Luke or I die tomorrow that either of us would Fall?”

She could see in his eyes that he didn’t have a satisfactory answer other than more Pre-Purge Jedi doctrine. Here she was, not even a full Jedi, challenging a Jedi Master’s center of belief system but she felt no remorse if it made Kenobi think about how the Jedi should grow and move forward.

She decided to take pity on him and said, “All I’m asking is that you consider all the ramifications of your decision. Is your order really that much better than mine? This is my family, and would be even if I hadn’t married a Jedi.”

“I understand that, I love my fellow Jedi like my family as well,” he agreed and seemed relieved to be given a way out of the former topic.

“Not to sound uncaring Master Kenobi, but I don’t think you do understand. You were brought up within the Jedi themselves. They chose you. Whereas I chose them. The Jedi are my family by choice. Just as every other person here chose this life. We all chose to be Jedi. Right down to the children, none of whom I might add, are less than 13. Which in my opinion is still too young to make such an important life decision.”

“You have an answer for everything don’t you?” He said then mumbled to himself. “And they called me the Negotiator.”

“Negotiation isn’t really my thing,” Mara explained. “That’s Luke. Think of me as his silent general, ready to do what’s necessary when everything goes to hell. And around Luke, that’s usually the case despite his best efforts.”

“Sounds like he takes after his father. Only Anakin usually goes looking for trouble, not the other way around.”

Just then the life doors whooshed open and Luke came striding towards them and a wave of happiness and excitement enveloped them.

“I just got off the comm with Leia,” he said. “She’s looking into everything she can find about Padme Amidala. Say’s she actually recognizes the name as someone her father greatly admired.”

“Yes,” Kenobi said. “Senator Organa and Senator Amidala where good friends and leaders in drafting the initiative to limit the Chancellor’s emergency powers.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Mara asked as Luke came to stand beside her.

“My mother!” he said excitedly.

“After Luke showed me a holo of his sister I knew it was Padme. She and Anakin met while children and Anakin was infatuated with her while still a padawan. After the battle of Genosis I knew something had changed in their relationship but not to what extent. I never dreamed he would be so foolish as to get her pregnant.”

Mara whirled on him in righteous fury, “And here you are lecturing me about attachment when you were covering for your apprentice!”

“I didn’t know for sure,” he tried to soothe her.

“But you suspected and said nothing. You Kenobi, are a sanctimonious hypocrite! You are a perfect example of what was wrong with the Jedi from before the purge.” She spat and swung around and marched from the chamber.

~~~

Obi-wan moved to go after her. To better explain himself. She’d blind-sided him with her accusations and perceptions on his Jedi. Some that he couldn’t rightly counter. Now her disgust at what he’d turned a blind-eye towards shamed him.

A hand on his arm prevented him from moving more than a step. Looking back, he saw a serious look on Anakin’s son’s face, warning him not to follow.

“I’ll talk to her later. After she’s had a chance to calm down,” Luke said.

He knew her better then Obi-wan did, and so he conceded. Not really wanting another confrontation with her anyway. But some of the things Mara Jade Skywalker had said nagged at him.

“You seem to have quite a few Jedi here who have been to the Dark Side,” Obi-wan said, refraining from pointing out that according to Luke’s own wife, he had been to the Dark Side.

Luke gave a small smile and said, “I see you two had a lot to talk about.” It was not the response Obi-wan had expected.

“She has certainly given me much to think about.”

“I’m sure. But to answer your question, I don’t believe that one can never be redeemed from the Dark Side. It’s a choice like anything else in life. To choose the light or to choose the dark and that choice doesn’t need to be permanent.

“I have no doubt Mara told you I myself turned. I’m not proud of what I did and I try and atone for it every day since. But if anything, it has given me a better understanding of why someone might choose that path and help steer them away from it. Not everyone Falls because of lust for power. That’s not why I did nor why most of those who have fought their way back to the light did.”

Obi-wan couldn’t’ believe what he was hearing, “You think turning to the Dark Side made you a better Jedi?!”

“No, of course not. I’m just saying that I understand why some others did fall and how to help the back to the light.”

“Do you know why Anakin fell?” asked Obi-wan.

“I don’t,” Luke said regretfully. “I wish I did.”

“Then I guess even if I do decide to change the past it might not matter anyway.”

“It’s the nature of time and the Force. Always in motion but always moving forward,” said Luke, sounding very much like Master Yoda. “Even when I’ve actively tried to change my vision of the future they usually still come to pass while when I do nothing then they sometimes change.”

He rubbed his temple. A headache forming behind his eyes. Something that only happened when Anakin was at his most reckless.

“But I think that is enough talk of what path the Jedi should take and whether or not it can be changed. I’m sorry if Mara came off as a bit brisque, but her heart is in the right place.”

“Why didn’t you tell her not to come?”

Luke chuckled. “One, she is my wife and not my subordinate despite being my apprentice and two, you try and tell Mara not to do something she’s set her mind to.” He shook his head. “Trust me, it never goes well.”

“That sounds like a complicated relationship.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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